Brannal ended up being the one to un-jam the drawer, using a swirl of wind that shot it into his hand with such force that it was lucky he didn’t break something.
Perian had tried really hard not to actually expect anything, which meant that he wavered a little when he looked down inside the drawer and saw the letter at the bottom of it that was addressed to him in his father’s hand.
The tears welled up immediately. “Oh, Brannal.”
He didn’t know what the letter would say, but it almost didn’t matter. It was there, and it was from his father, and it felt like the man was speaking to him from the grave.
“Do you want some privacy?” Brannal asked.
But Perian shook his head, swallowing thickly.
Brannal pulled him into his lap, wrapping his arms around him and supporting him, which was exactly what he needed.
He pulled the letter out and broke the seal with fingers that trembled a little. His heart fell when he saw that there was only one sentence on it.
When you were a child.
Perian blinked at it. “What?”
He flipped the paper over, but that proved to be all it said. He looked at both sides several times.
“I don’t understand. Why would he go to so much trouble to write methat?”
“Why, indeed?”
He twisted to look at Brannal’s expression. He didn’t sound nearly as bewildered as Perian.
“What if you’d sold the desk?” Brannal asked.
“I wouldn’t sell the desk,” he immediately protested. “It’s my father’s.”
“What if you got a professional in to open the stuck drawer?” he pursued. “Or one of the staff unstuck it while cleaning?”
“What if?” Perian asked, still puzzled by where he was going with this.
“Think about what could be in that letter, dear heart. He wouldn’t want anyone else to read it, would he?”
“Ooh,” Perian breathed. That made a lot of sense. He held up the note. “But then, what’s this?”
“That,” Brannal said, “is meant to be something only you can decipher. So even if someone else found it, it wouldn’t matter.”
Perian waved it. “But it doesn’t matter if I can’t figure it out! What about when I was a child?”
“He’s trying to get you to remember something about your childhood.”
Perian shot him a look, and Brannal cleared his throat. “Sorry. You probably figured that part out.”
Perian slumped back against him. “Yeah, I figured out that much. I just… I spent my whole life here, Brannal. My entire childhood. That doesn’t narrow it down at all.”
“All right,” Brannal said, straightening a little in the chair and bringing Perian with him. “Clearly, your father wanted to keep you safe, so the clue is somewhat obscure. But he set this up, so we have to believe that he wanted to communicate with you, and that a letter is likely hidden—somewhere more secure than a stuck drawer on the desk. Is there somewhere that you hid things as a child?”
“No, I—”
Perian cut off abruptly as a sudden memory from long ago struck him. He sprang to his feet and darted out of the room, Brannal hurrying after him.
He raced upstairs, rushing down the hallway to his father’s bedroom. It was the largest bedroom in the house, but Perian hadn’t been able to bear the thought of moving into it after his father died. He’d tidied things up and put away many of his father’s things, but it was still his father’s room.
He headed into the closet, a smaller room off the bedroom where his father had hung some of his clothes. Others were folded in the dresser at the back of the space.
